


It's the long drive home that makes people talk

by enigma_kar



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, TV Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19112467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma_kar/pseuds/enigma_kar
Summary: The one where, after a long bus ride, Aziraphale and Crowley realise they still have a chance.





	It's the long drive home that makes people talk

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... where do I even begin? Basically, the Good Omens TV series was so incredibly amazing it lured me back into the world of fandom and fanfiction and this is the result. I know there’s probably thousands of variations of this scene (Lord knows I wrote one about 10 years ago when I first finished the book!), but enjoy. My writing's a bit rusty, but it felt so good to be writing again!  
> The title comes from the song Mess Her Up by Amy Shark.

**It's the long drive home that makes people talk**

_"You can stay at my place, if you like.”_

It’s not quite the same as running off to Alpha Centauri together, but Crowley has the same tone in his voice and the same shadow of hope flickers across his face, visible even in the dark.

And Aziraphale figures it’s another chance. And perhaps that means something; perhaps someone is trying to tell him something. He’s been around a while on this planet, long enough to know that second, and third, chances don’t come up very often.

He’d missed his chance before and let Crowley drive away without him, into the stars (it had made his heart give a pathetic little squeeze when he realised that Crowley had actually _researched_ planets). But Aziraphale had still let him go. And it was odd, Aziraphale had remembered thinking. How there were times, when he was alone in his bookshop and when he was feeling a little indulgent, he could let his mind wander. To Crowley. To Crowley saving books for him, and to Crowley buying him crepes in France. His mind could so often conjure a dream of a life with Crowley. A life where things were different and they could be _something_. But when faced with the possibility of a new life together, the angel had frozen and backed out. Because he was an angel. He had a duty, and his duty was to Heaven not to Crowley. Because Crowley, as he was so often reminded, was a demon. So instead, Aziraphale has simply said “I forgive you” and let Crowley go.

And now, as he follows the demon onto the bus, he hopes Crowley can forgive him too.

Crowley flops back into the seat by the window with the ease of one who has spent years developing a special kind of aggressively casual pose, and throws one arm over the back of the adjacent seat. There’s an invitation in that too, Aziraphale knows. And a chance to back out if he wants; there are other seats on the bus after all. But he takes the seat next to Crowley and Crowley makes a little noise that could be a sigh of relief.

The bus does take them back to London. Eventually. It does so via Oxford, so the other passengers can get to their destinations. And it does bypass the bus driver’s home, and continues south towards the capital with no driver and one angel and one demon as passengers. No one else seems to notice.

Crowley simply raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

“It seemed cruel to make him drive miles outside his usual route,” Aziraphale says defensively.

Crowley sighs and gives a mildly fond smile. “I know,” is all he says.

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, both too tired and too consumed by their own thoughts.

~ *XX* ~

In London, Aziraphale follows Crowley through his flat. They pass the foul wreckage that occurs when demon meets holy water, and pass the verdant plants, and pass the statue that still makes Aziraphale blush (“They’re _fighting_ ,” Crowley had said when he’d first shown Aziraphale through the flat. “Oh indubitably,” Aziraphale had replied, straight-faced).

They wind up in the kitchen, where Crowley wrenches his sunglasses off and runs a hand through his hair and mutters agitatedly about wine. Aziraphale knows something is not quite right and he dithers for a fraction of a second before simply moving around the stylish island bench and enveloping the demon in a hug. Crowley clearly isn’t expecting it and makes a startled noise. He is whipcord strong and tense, but slowly relaxes into Aziraphale’s softness when he realises the angel isn’t going anywhere.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale whispers. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Crowley grips him tighter, hands tearing desperately across Aziraphale’s back, and draws a ragged breath. “I thought I’d lost you.” The sound of the demon’s voice is so uncharacteristically emotional, that it makes Aziraphale ache. There’s anger in that statement too, he knows. It will come out eventually, but not tonight. They’re both too exhausted for true anger and just a little bit broken by recent events.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise, you idiot,” Crowley huffs into Aziraphale’s shoulder, some anger ebbing away. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“But I… I let you go,” Aziraphale stammers. “I let you drive off and…”

“You did the _right thing,_ as always. You basically averted Armageddon,” Crowley says. “I just… I wanted to run… I…” What he doesn’t say, but what the angel understands anyway, is that he had put them first, ahead of any side. Aziraphale’s heart beats a tiny bit faster, even though it doesn’t have to.

“Well, I don’t think I can take all the credit for averting Armageddon.” 

Crowley snorts. “Joint effort then. I just…” he pauses and when he speaks next, his voice has dropped so low Aziraphale nearly misses it. “I never thought I’d get this chance again.”

“Ch- Chance?”

Crowley pulls back and stares at Aziraphale, his hands still maintaining a vice-like grip on the angel’s arms as though frightened to let go. “My chance!” he cries. “Our chance! To survive, to make the most of what time we had left, to escape to bloody Alpha Centauri or _something_. I didn’t think we had time! And then your bookshop was burning, and I thought... And I just… Oh don’t make me say it.” He turns away with something like shame.

And it suddenly clicks in Aziraphale’s mind how alike they are, talking of chances like this. Crowley _cares_ too much, about the world and humans and about Aziraphale himself. He cares the way angels should care, not that he’d ever admit it aloud, and he’d been willing to wait for Aziraphale. He just thought they’d run out of time, that he’d missed their chance too. And Aziraphale feels guilt flood through him, because he’s spent so long trying _not_ to care about Crowley. He didn’t want to like Crowley, but he does. Oh, how he does and how he yearns. And he’s spent many years trying to deny it and trying to hide it. But he’s tired now, and suddenly too tired of waiting.

So very softly, he says: “we have our chance now.”

“Do you mean that?” The hope in Crowley’s expression as he looks up is almost too much for Aziraphale to bear. Crowley takes a deep breath like he’s trying to control _something_ and with forced gentleness, he brings their foreheads together. “Angel… I, I don’t want to…” _Hurt you._ _Scare you._ _Push you away._ The words go unsaid. “…I know I go too fast for you.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale says, breath hitching. “I -”

“Don’t deny it,” Crowley cuts him off. “Please don’t. I tempt people, angel. Trust me, I know the look someone gets when they’re in love with someone they think they shouldn’t be.”

“I wasn’t going to deny anything,” whispers Aziraphale, trying not to think too much about Crowley's use of the word 'love'. He places one hand on the demon’s chest and feels the thrill of his racing heart. And Crowley twitches forward, his lips scant inches away from the angels. “I just… Are they watching us? Is Hell watching us?”

Crowley tenses in a different way for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. “Is Heaven?”

“No, I think they’re regrouping or -”

Crowley cuts him off with a kiss. Even though he should be expecting it, the contact still makes Aziraphale gasp. It’s awkward at first and Aziraphale dimly wonders if Crowley has ever kissed anyone else before. But he finds himself not caring as the demon pushes into his mouth and Aziraphale grips the lapels on Crowley’s jacket with a fierceness he didn’t realise he had. And maybe they have gone just a little native, because Aziraphale is exhilarated and enjoying this too much to be possible and Crowley must be as well because he is just not stopping.

It’s not until Aziraphale finds himself being pushed back into the kitchen bench and the connection startles him, that they break apart. “Alright?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale can only nod as he brings hands up to cup Crowley’s face and tenderly presses their lips together again. It’s gentler this time but no less enjoyable. And Aziraphale tries to convey in that kiss just how happy he is and how thankful he is that this is where they've ended up. He is so filled with love and with gratitude because Crowley  _waited_ for him, waited for this. When they pull back, Aziraphale can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what that would be like,” he says.

“Good as you imagined then?” Crowley asks with a little smirk.

“Oh definitely good,” Aziraphale says quickly. “But also different.”

“How so?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Crowley simply kisses him again. “So now what?” he asks after a few more moments have been lost.

Aziraphale thinks he would very much like to continue what they’ve started and see where it leads. It’s not in his nature to be prurient, but he’s suddenly very curious about certain parts of his human body, and of Crowley’s. However, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind. Heaven and Hell might not be watching them now, but that reprieve won’t last.

“We need a plan,” Aziraphale says, regretfully. “Heaven knows I’m to blame, that _we’re_ to blame. They won’t leave us alone. And neither will Hell, I’d imagine. We need a plan or… or something.” He tries to sound matter-of-fact, but he can’t stop the panic which seeps into his voice.

“Then we’ll think of a plan,” Crowley says reassuringly with a sudden, familiar confident grin. “And I think I know exactly where to start.”

And there’s a small glimmer of hope in Crowley’s eyes that makes Aziraphale smile.


End file.
